Fara rarely, if ever, complained. She came from a long line of bathroom fixtures, from that brand you knew you could trust. But working in a house with forgetful old fuddy-duddies and one sloppy son was beyond her training. She was constantly in need of repair nowadays, but her owners were too cheap to pay a proper plumber. Mr. Marquez would attempt to fix her up himself, or squeeze some putty around the edges to temporarily stop leaks. But there was always that dampness, and the ever-present rust.
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